Eternally Overshadowed
by WizMonCruWil
Summary: No, No, No, No, NOOOOOO!... Hold me. One more time... A daughter who died!... LIVE FOR HER! THAT IS WHAT SHE WOULD WANT!... I don't blame the werewolf, Ron!... And anyone who ever cared about her at all wouldn't just sit here, and do nothing!... The love of my life, our best mate, is dead, and it's because of that monster... that monster... that monster...
1. Chapter 1: Greatest Treasure Stolen

**Chapter 1: Greatest Treasure Stolen**

"And now I think..." Bellatrix Lestrange was purring. "We can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

"NOOOOOOOOO!" Ron's roar of protest ended in an almost primal screech as he charged forward into the fray to rescue his lady love. Harry was right behind him. But then, suddenly -

WHAM! Ron felt as though he had just run into an invisible wall. He bashed his shoulder against the barrier that he couldn't see once, then again. Behind him, Harry skidded to a stop as he nearly crashed into his best mate. The boys looked beyond where they could not tread.

Bellatrix had her wand out and had cast a Protego shield in front of them, sealing off half of the room, grinning evilly. "Greyback... you are free to feast."

Greyback grinned sadistically at Ron, making sure he was watching before he sprung forward with a hungry roar and sank his teeth into Hermione's neck.

He might not have been able to get to her. But he heard her scream. The Protego charm did nothing to shield Ron from that.

"NOOOOOOOOO! HERMIONE!" Tears of anguish and rage streamed down Ron's cheeks as he watched his Hermione scream as she was mauled, given the marks that would make her a werewolf by night. She was thrashing, shrieking, but Greyback kept her mercilessly pinned. Then, in horror, Ron watched as Hermione's jeans were ripped down to her ankles, and with a vicious slam, Greyback forcefully took her. Raped her.

"No... no... no... no... No, No, No, No, NOOOOOO!" Ron punctuated each mad denial with a fist against the Protego shield. "Stop it, STOP IT!"

All at once, there was a mighty crash, as a chandelier came down right on top of the raping werewolf and his victim. Somewhere, Bellatrix screamed. With the collapsing of the great decoration, the Protego shield came down with it. Ron sprinted forward, found Hermione's arm, with the nice, soft skin he had always loved but that had now been cruelly defaced. As quickly and yet as gently as he could, he pulled her from the wreckage. She lay limp in his arms, eyes closed, her head lolled back and looking like a swooning bride, or a princess about to be carried away by her prince. Except the princess in this story was not from The Tales of Beedle the Bard, but rather from the grotesque tales of the Brothers Grimm, for the princess was covered in blood, defiled. Ron tried not to look at any of Hermione's injuries as he retreated back towards the other end of the drawing room. At that moment, Harry called out, "Ron, catch... and GO!"

Ron caught the wand flung to him, not even caring whether it was his own or not, turned on his heel and Disapparated. Two words chanted through his mind like a prayer: _Shell Cottage, Shell Cottage, Shell Cottage..._

* * *

His knees hit the coarse sand hard and he nearly tumbled face first into a dune with the inertia of being pulled back into space. Righting himself, his gaze snapped to Hermione, who was still thankfully cradled in his arms.

She was unresponsive.

"NO!" Ron bellowed. "Hermione... HERMIONE!" The last call of her name was once again primal, like that of an animal having lost its mate. This time, he watched as Hermione's eyes opened. There it was - that beautiful chocolate brown. Except her irises appeared glassy, filmy. Her gaze was fixed on him, and yet Ron still wondered if she was even looking at him at all. Strangely enough, she was smiling.

"Ronnie...?" she murmured, using a pet name for him that she had only recently come up with it. Ron had not bothered to hide how much he adored it (it was a hella lot cuter than Won-Won). "My love... my brave, heroic love... so _handsome_..." A gentle hand reached up to caress his cheek, delicate and dainty fingers playing with the scruff that Ron should have shaved off days ago, but had not bothered to.

Ron could scarcely breathe. Did Hermione hear herself? Was she aware of what she was saying? Perhaps, perhaps not - she appeared almost delirious. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "Stay with me, Hermione..." From behind them, Ron heard a sharp POP!, the sound something between the retort of a gun and a firecracker, and he knew that Harry had arrived.

"Ron! RON!" He felt Harry reach his side. "She's not... Is she...?"

Ron ignored him, as he rocked Hermione gently, like a baby. Big, fat, wet tears sniffled noisily down his cheeks and fell onto her upturned face like sweet rain, their salt kissing away the streaks of blood on her face. "Please..." he croaked, begged her. "Don't die... don't leave me..." And even though he should have said it months, years earlier, only now was he man enough to tell her, "I love you!"

Hermione smiled, enraptured and giddy, and by that Ron knew that she had heard his words. "I know, my love. All my life, I've lived for loving you... let me go now..."

" _Never_!" Ron thundered, squeezing her to him tighter still. "You're going to live, 'Mione! I shall see to it! BILL! BILL!" He screamed for help down the beach, hoping it might awaken his brother.

But Hermione just shook her head. In the process, her gaze found Harry, and her eyes suddenly took on a sense of urgency. "Harry..." she whimpered. "Marry us."

Harry's mouth hinged open, and for the first time, Ron got a good look at his best mate. He seemed dazed and confused, and was cradling a lumpy form in his own arms himself. But Ron was too disoriented to ask what it was. Scrambling, Harry sent the lump down in the damp sand. The blue gray of a fading night shone on his glasses as he stood before the couple. He blessed them with the sign of the cross, as he had recalled his Aunt Petunia doing on Sundays when she would drag him, Vernon and Dudley to church. Then, he began the impromptu wedding service.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, until death..." Harry's throat clogged, as 'until death do you part' was probably moments away, but he forced himself to continue. "until death do you part?"

"I do," Ron vowed, and his voice seemed strangely firm.

"Hermione Jean Granger, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to have and to hold, until death do you part?" Harry ran through the last this time, and barely made it, breaking down. Hermione gazed at Ron with unabashed, pure, unadulterated love.

"I do," she sighed, beaming.

Taking a clump of sand in his fist, Harry transfigured it into two golden wedding bands, which Ron and Hermione gave to each other. Then Harry concluded with the words that the wizard at Bill and Fluer's wedding had used. "Then... I declare you... bonded for life. You may kiss the bride."

Ron slowly bent over Hermione and the pair shared a gentle, first kiss. It was sweeter than anything Ron had fantasized about, and then grew quickly more passionate, as with an admirable show of the last of her strength, Hermione clutched Ron close and kissed him back. When they broke the kiss at last, her eyes were shining.

"We're married," she whispered to the man who was now her husband. Her body now began to shake, convulse a little. "Hold... hold me," she got out. "One more time..."

Ron sobbed jarringly, wept bitterly, as he bent and kissed Hermione's lips once more. As they shared a goodbye kiss, the sun rose over the waters of the Atlantic just beyond, so that the tide glistened with its pink light.

Hermione's hand stroked Ron's face lovingly once again. "Goodbye, my darling," she whispered. "I love... you..." And curling into his side, her eyes fluttered shut, her body fell limp, and after several minutes, her breathing ceased.

Ron shook his head madly, in mad denial, refusing to believe, that the woman whom he had loved more than anyone, the woman he had always wanted, was gone forever. And once again, he screamed for the cold heavens to hear, with Harry watching despondently:

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

* * *

Bill Weasley awoke at barely first light that morning to a furious pounding on his door and quite a sight behind it. His baby brother, looking positively deranged with grief, and an exhausted Harry Potter, both of them carrying bodies in their arms. It was with horror that he discovered the bodies were those of Hermione Granger and Dobby the house elf. Harry's little friend had come and rescued them all, at the price of his own life, ended by a silver blade to the chest.

Fleur cleaned the bodies as best she could, clearing away every last one of Greyback's horrid bites. Taking the knife out of Dobby's chest, they cleaned the blade and used it to cut away Hermione's clothes, as rigor mortis had already begun to set it. Ron gave Fleur free reign to do whatever she had to do, so long as he didn't have to watch. But he remained at Hermione's side - his bride and spouse of scarcely ten minutes - holding her cold, clammy hand.

It was the worst day of Ron's life, bar none. As Hermione and Dobby were being attended to, Bill fled to the Burrow to round up his family. After pretty much forcing his baby brother at wandpoint to tell him the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, the eldest Weasley had realized that the Death Eaters knew Ron was with Harry, and not bedridden by spattegroit, and thus rounded up the rest of the family. The whole motley crew, including Ginny, was brought back to Shell Cottage, and warned that funerals would be held. When Mrs. Weasley saw that it was Hermione who was to be buried, she lost it. Ginny clung to Harry like he was a lifeline, the force of her wracking sobs nearly making her lose her balance. Fred and George only stared numbly and in shock at their baby brother's crush.

The funeral services were held on the dunes behind Shell Cottage. Laying Hermione to eternal rest here had not been an easy decision. Ron was unsure if they should take her back to her empty, childhood home, as he had no idea if the Death Eaters had trashed the place looking for information on Harry. And even if they did bury Hermione there, who was to say that the grave would not be vandalized at some point in the future? In the end, the point was moot as with Voldemort consolidating his power, the family couldn't exactly go anywhere freely; Bill had taken a big risk to even convene everyone else here.

Harry dug a simple grave for Dobby, marked by an equally unpretentious stone. With his wand, he carved into the rock: HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF. Ron insisted on digging his wife's grave himself, refusing help from his brothers even after it was offered multiple times.

Someone conjured an open casket, and adorned in the red dress she had worn to last summer's wedding, Hermione was laid upon it. Any trace of Bellatrix and Greyback's assaults were gone; she appeared to be sleeping almost. A small smile graced her lips, which were still adorably pink. She looked so beautiful, even in death, that Ron had difficulty finding it in his heart to bury her.

It was decided with no words. Ron was allowed to approach the casket first, Harry and his family parting for him silently as he strode on unsteady feet towards where his beloved Hermione lay. Sitting on the edge of her final resting place, Ron ran a tender hand down her cheek.

Several months earlier, at a time when the Horcrux hunt had slowed to a crawl, Ron recalled something Hermione had read. At that time, in the woods with very little food and only a locket Horcrux for their efforts, life had become boring very quickly, so most nights, Hermione would read aloud from a book she had brought along for pleasure, the boys listening, Harry distractedly, Ron rapturously. Ron had always treasured Hermione's voice when she read, and especially when she sang. That winter, she had read from what, by her own admission, was her favorite play - _Romeo and Juliet_ , by William... William... Ron couldn't remember the last name, only that it had started with an S. A Muggle playwright from centuries before. Recalling one of the most tragic scenes in the manuscript, he spoke those words to Hermione now, in a whisper, a secret to be shared by just those two:

"Oh my love, my wife! Death, that hath sucked the honey from thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty. Thou art not conquered! Beauty's ensign yet is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks. And death's pale flag is not advanced there. Ah, dear Hermione, why art thou yet so fair? Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous And that the lean abhorred monster keeps thee here in dark to be his paramour?"

Overcome, Ron kissed Hermione's lips once, then again. "Goodbye, my darling," he echoed Hermione's last words. "And thank you." He willed himself to step away from the coffin, allowing Bill, Fred and George to seal the glass over her casket, and lower the coffin into the ground, before beginning to fill the earth again. As the rest of the Weasleys began to turn sadly for the house, Ron took Harry aside.

"Bellatrix and Greyback will pay. I swear on my wife's grave, Bellatrix and Greyback will pay. They shall die by my hand."

Harry nodded, though his stomach clenched uneasily. He hoped that Ron would wait until he was ready before he made his move, to do the wretched deed. To avenge his bride.

* * *

Harry should have known his best friend better. It was only night, the evening of Hermione's funeral, as he sat on the porch, observing the lulling crashes of the waves. Keeping watch at night had become an ingrained habit, and Harry adhered to the practice, despite the spring chill. The light from a single lantern lit his form, the glow dancing along his emerald green irises which were now brooding, swimming with grief as he sealed himself off in his own pain.

Footfalls came onto the porch, the creak of the wood making Harry look up into Ron's face. He had a rucksack slung over his shoulder, dressed in a padded flannel. "You ready?"

"For what?" Harry asked warily, though there was a sharp edge to his voice.

"We're going after the Death Eaters." Ron's own tone was grim as he tossed Harry a wand. One look at it, and Harry knew it wasn't his - several wands had been confiscated with them in the desperate struggle to flee. This wand he held could have been Draco Malfoy's. He thought. He wasn't sure. All the same, he eyed the weapon, then his friend, sadly.

"I know what you're feeling... but killing those Death Eaters is wrong." He regretted his poor turn of phrase the second after the words left his lips.

" _Wrong_?!" Ron bellowed. "The love of my life, our best mate, is dead, and it's because of that monster!"

"I don't blame the _werewolf_ , Ron!" Harry growled.

Silence. Ron leaned back a little, blue eyes wide. Harry was desperate to correct what he had meant, that it was Bellatrix whom he blamed the most, but too late. Ron misinterpreted where Harry lay the blame, as he averted his gaze. "I see." The youngest Wealey son's voice was cold.

Harry sighed. "Killing Bellatrix or Greyback won't bring Hermione back."

"Oh, _now_ you're trying to be sensitive and logical!" Ron snapped, twisting away from his friend. Harry jumped to his feet.

"I'm trying to follow the mission! Why can't you do the same?"

"Sod the mission! Do you really think losing someone you love has anything to do with the mission? I lost Hermione! Don't you understand? I. Lost. Her. And anyone who ever cared about her at all wouldn't just _sit_ here, and do _nothing_!" He spun on his heel, but Harry's hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Ron!" He stiffened. "Don't go do something that could get you killed."

Ron scoffed to the air. "Killed. Maybe it would be better to be dead, and take a couple Death Eaters with me. Thanks for you _sensitivity_."

He nearly walked into Fleur, coming up the front porch steps. From the look she sent his way, it was clear she had heard most of the argument. Ron just scowled at her, and brushed past her, setting off at a light jog across the sandy beach. Harry gazed after him, his task now clear.

"I've gotta stop him." Gratefully taking an offered traveling cloak from Fleur, he went after his friend. Fleur watched both men disappear before casting her eyes to the black night sky.

"You left too soon, Hermione. Your friends need your guidance."

* * *

Ron was unsure how long he had been walking along the beach. He was stumbling through the dunes, his boots sinking into the coarse grains. Vengeance towards Bellatrix and Greyback had quickly been drowned by his own hopeless despair, and he was sobbing and not caring who heard. With Hermione gone, life had become utterly meaningless. He no longer cared what happened to him, for meaning and happiness had been centered inside of one perfect, beautiful creature who would be forever out of reach.

Ron had heard stories. About people losing the love of their life, and never getting over it. And he had known for years that Hermione had been It for him. Stick a wand in him, baby, because he. was. done. How could he go on, why should he go on, if she wasn't there to share the joys of life with him?

Pausing at the crest of a dune, bathed in the light of the full moon, Ron paused. He took out the wand he was certain he had won from somebody else - he didn't care who - and turned it over in his palm, the core glinting in the light.

What did it feel like, death? Harry was the only known wizard to have ever survived a Killing Curse - did he remember what the green bolt of light had felt like? Ron had never thought to ask. And then again, Harry probably didn't remember what it felt like; he had just been a baby. Still, it would be all too easy... to turn the wand on himself...

"Ron, NO!" Ron looked up, the tip of the wand pointed at his chest, just in time to see Harry ramrod into him. The force of the impact sent them both sprawling; the wand flew out of his hand and disappeared into the sand and the darkness.

"MERLIN DAMN YOU, POTTER! I'LL KILL YOU!" Ron was on his feet in an instant, bull-rushing into Harry's stomach. Though surprised, and not nearly as strong as Ron, Harry fought back. The best mates rolled through the dunes, biting and kicking. Punches were thrown. Calloused hands, caked with blood that shimmered in the moon's beam, grappled for control of the one remaining wand.

This was not an innocent rough-housing, a tussle between two playmates. Nor was it a disagreement that had gotten a little out of hand. Harry and Ron were fighting to kill, or at least Ron was. There was something so disturbing about watching two best mates, practically brothers, trying to kill each other. Time seemed to slow down. Harry threw one punch that connected with the side of Ron's jaw. Blood spewed from the redhead's mouth, and there was a sharp crack as something broke. Ron responded in kind.

And then he was on his back, Harry straddling him, hands pinning his skull into the sand. Ron's eyes could make out a tiny sea turtle crawling by them towards the lapping waves.

"LIVE FOR HER! THAT IS WHAT SHE WOULD WANT!" Harry bellowed it into Ron's face. "What would Hermione do, if she was in your position?"

Ron remained stonily silent, squirmed once to try and dislodge his friend, but it was fruitless. He felt Harry press his skull into the ground harder, grains of sand now leaving an indentation in his cheek.

"I will only let you up if you promise not to hurt yourself or me. Do you understand me?"

Ron gave up. He nodded as much as he was able, and felt Harry's weight rise off of him. Then he was being tugged to his feet.

They both doubled over, finally catching their breath, panting.

"You will have your chance, Ron," Harry promised. "To get Greyback and Bellatrix. Losing Hermione will _not_ be meaningless. But first, no matter what it takes... we are finishing this mission."


	2. Chapter 2: What Now?

**Chapter 2: What Now?**

Harry and Ron lay huddled in a darkened corner of Diagon Alley, their eyes trained on the entrance of Gringotts Wizard Bank. Ron chanced a glance at his best friend.

"Not one word, Ron," Harry growled in warning. Though he knew it might lift Ron's spirits to make some crack about Harry being in a dress, now was not the time. Harry hoped with all his heart that he would not have to relive the experience of becoming a woman ever again, but Polyjuice disguising himself as Bellatrix Lestrange had been their only feasible plan.

"Some time today would be nice," the goblin, Griphook, snarled.

The men looked at each other. "Let's go." And Ron threw himself and Griphook under the Invisibility Cloak.

* * *

Harry and Ron managed to get into the Lestrange vault and get the Cup, though they lost the sword of Gryffindor to a double-crossing Griphook. The duo escaped the bank on the back of a dragon and flew to the countryside just beyond Hogwarts, dropping into a lake. Harry stripped the dress off of himself in the water, swam for shore and threw on a more masculine change of clothes.

The pair made it, with a little more luck, into Hogsmeade Village, and then into Hogwarts itself, where Dumbledore's Army, led by Neville, rallied around them and also Hermione's memory. Even Lavender Brown seemed genuinely upset over her former rival's demise.

Harry and Ron picked off the remaining Horcruxes one by one. Harry would later learn that he had to give himself up to Voldemort, to destroy the accident Horcrux living inside him. The Dark Lord hit him with the Killing Curse, and Harry fell dead.

* * *

He awoke in a whitewashed world, where nothing seemed to be. A never-ending landscape. All at once, a beautiful lady, adorned in white, looking like an angel being attended to by chambermaids, floated ethereally toward him. From a distance, Harry at first thought that she might be his mother, but then...

There she was. Hermione, looking beautiful and whole and eternally alive. She smiled warmly at him.

"You were the Horcrux that Voldemort never meant to make, Harry. You can still go back."

"I can?" Harry asked.

She nodded. "Go back, Harry," she prodded gently, sounding just like she did when she would tell the boys to go to bed, or order them to finish their homework. "He needs you. Look after him for me. Please?"

Harry nodded. Hermione grinned and kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she murmured. She turned to leave, disappear into the white beyond. "And Harry? Tell Ron I love him. I love him still." And her gaze was, for the first time, sad. Then she faded away on the white puffs of fog.

* * *

Harry rose from the dead to face Voldemort once more, and the Battle of Hogwarts resumed. In the tumult of the Great Hall, Ron spotted Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas dueling Fenrir Greyback.

"GREYBACK!" Ron's voice was bloodthirsty, his eyes looking mad, as he leapt into the fray, shoving his classmates aside as he relished the fight.

"Greyback is MINE!" Ron screamed to any Hogwartsian around him, and viciously, he began to duel. All the while, he said the same phrase over and over, like a talisman: "Hello. My name is Ronald Weasley. You killed my lover. Prepare to die."

Grieving widower and werewolf were a pretty even match at first, but slowly, Greyback's confident sneer turned into a strained snarl. The light in his eyes faded to show genuine fear, as it became quite clear that he was not dueling some mere mortal, but rather an avenging angel. Ron slashed and swiped recklessly, and a crowd began to form around the duelists, Ron throwing back friends who tried to leap in and help. "No! Get back! Get back! He is mine!"

A final slash, and with a yelp of the wolf that he was, Greyback stumbled to his knees. Ron leapt forward, his free hand diving into his robes and he plunged Bellatrix's knife right into Greyback's heart.

Greyback's eyes bulged. "What do you want?"

"I want my wife back, you son of a bitch!" Ron hissed, and he twisted the knife so that the life expired from Greyback's pupils and he keeled over, dead.

A great cheer went up, but Ron was already pivoting to the next task. Time to go for broke and challenge Bellatrix. Spying her dueling across the Great Hall, he made for her, but before he could dive in, he watched as his own mother bested Voldemort's sadistic lieutenant.

* * *

When Voldemort finally fell, Harry and the Weasleys returned to the Burrow. They set about morosely preparing for Fred Weasley's funeral, attending other memorial services, rebuilding the castle.

And Ron finally allowed himself to focus, to the exclusion of nearly all else, on grieving his dead wife.

He built a shrine for Hermione in his bedroom, pictures of her in her red dress, candid shots of her reading with a furrowed brow and lips that Ron just wanted to kiss right off. Some of her possessions were placed like sentinels: the beaded bag, her copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard, her Yule Ball earrings. Even her wand. Only her wedding ring remained buried with its owner.

Except for meals and Fred's funeral, Ron never left the room.

And he would have been content to just stay there, wasting away for the rest of his days, until one night, about two months after Hermione's death, when Ron woke up in a cold sweat as he remembered: Hermione's parents! They were still in Australia!

Turning on the nightstand light, Ron leapt out of bed, and kicked Harry awake, from where his best mate had been sleeping like a cadaver atop an air mattress on the floor. "Harry! Wake up! Pack your things!"

Harry jerked awake sharply, wand in his hand, softening only when he remembered where he was, saw Ron running around like a tree shrew and throwing random items into Hermione's beaded bag. "What... what the bloody hell are you doing?" he yawned.

"We have to go!" Ron explained, not even looking at him, as he tore a map of the globe off the wall, and started to roll it up.

"Go? Go where?"

"Australia!"

"What the bloody hell for?"

"Hermione's parents! We have to go get them! Their memories are still gone!"

Now understanding, Harry roused himself fully, springing off the mattress and across the room. A hand snapped out to stay Ron's hand as he plunged winter wear (it was near Christmastime in Australia) into the beaded bag. "Ron, stop. We're leaving them there."

Ron ogled Harry as if he had grown three heads. "Leaving them there? Not bloody likely! They're my parents-in-law!"

"And how do you think they would react once the charm is lifted, eh? What would you say? _'Hello, sir and madame, I loved your daughter, I married your daughter, and oh, by the way, your daughter whom you have just remembered is now dead!'_" Harry was holding Ron's gaze sternly. "Hermione wiped herself from their lives so that just in case she did die, they wouldn't have to grieve!"

Ron gaped at Harry. "So you would just leave them in a foreign country, without even knowing they have a daughter?"

"A daughter who _died_!" Harry bellowed, even though it was the middle of the night and their voices were already raised enough to wake the whole house. "You might as well kill them yourself with that news! You go out there and lift that charm, you dishonor your wife!"

"I would never mean to _dishonor_ her!" Ron angrily countered, his voice heavy with tears.

"Then leave it alone!"

The door banged open suddenly, and Harry and Ron both jumped. Mrs. Weasley stood in the doorway, lit by her wand, Ginny and Mr. Weasley over her shoulder. "Boys, what is going on here?" she hissed.

"Sorry, Mum," Ron sighed. "We were just having a discussion. We'll let it alone. Go back to sleep." The other family members left. Ron turned back to his best mate apologetically. "I don't think there's a choice here, Harry. They should have their old life back."

"And do what, Ron?" Harry scoffed. "Only see their daughter behind a stone grave and in dreams and never get to hold her again? Some life!" He turned away in disgust, flopping back onto the air mattress and facing the wall. There was a moment of tense silence, Ron just standing there, until Harry's voice pinged out into the soft light:

"Think about what she would want."

And with that, Ron knew that Hermione would want her parents to be happy in their ignorance. After all, ignorance is bliss. So he decided to leave his wife's parents in a doctored peace, until the day when they too would die and would hopefully be reunited with their daughter in Heaven.


	3. Chapter 3: There Will Never Be Anyone El

**Chapter 3: There Will Never Be Anyone Else**

The years slowly passed. Ron entered the Auror Corps alongside Harry, and eventually trained under him, as his best friend rose quite rapidly through the ranks and eventually took over the entire Department.

Harry and Ginny got married, and many of the surviving Weasley children got married and began to have families. Only Ron and Charlie did not wed - Charlie due to his work with dragons, Ron due to steadfast faithfulness. Instead, Ron wore Hermione's picture around his neck, inside the locket that had once been Voldemort's Horcrux, now purged of its Dark Magic past and meticulously repaired.

Molly Weasley watched the singleness of her second-oldest and second-youngest sons with growing concern, with her worry fixed particularly on Ron. For every Thanksgiving and Christmas, she would invite Ron and Charlie to join in with their growing, extended brood to celebrate the holidays. And every holiday, she would drop not-so-subtle hints and comments about wanting more grandchildren, wanting more "ladies in the house" as she eyed Ron and Charlie pointedly.

She was in rare form, one Easter Sunday, commenting on Harry's daughter, Lily's, Easter dress. "How pretty you look in that lovely blue hat, my dear! If only there were more cousins to play with you..." And her eyes swiveled to Ron's.

From the other end of the table, Ron scowled, nursing his butterbeer. Despite the faded jumper across his chest, the winds were changing, the air growing warmer, he could feel it. Yup, winter was on the wing, and he felt the sting of dread, even now. Of all the Weasley holidays, Easter was the worst for him; Ron would go through the Sunday meal barely saying ten words, tops. Gathering Lily onto his lap, Harry side-eyed his brother-in-law nervously.

Ron snorted. "You've got all the grandbabies you're going to get, Mum. They'll be none from me."

"Nor me!" Charlie piped up, beaming as he ruffled Lily's red hair. Charlie seemed more content in his decision to never have a family, as he did not want to part with his beautiful dragons.

But Molly refused to leave it alone. "Honestly, Ron, I can't understand why you won't at least go on a date! You're an eligible bachelor, still have time to sow your oats. At least you could take a wife!"

That did it. Ron slammed an open palm on the table as he sprang out of his chair, overturning it with a clatter. "Mum, I _had_ a wife! A wife who's been dead in the ground for sixteen years this very day!"

The entire table fell into shocked silence. Molly's face went ashen, and she nearly dropped the plate she was holding. Harry pursed his mouth in a taut line, bouncing Lily as she began to whimper, startled by her uncle's explosive temper.

"You... you were _married_?" Molly whispered. She knew - as did all the adults in the room - exactly who Ron was referring to.

Ron laughed bitterly. "For all of ten minutes! Harry married us on the beach, and I had to watch... helplessly... as my bride - the love of my life - died in my arms! So no, Mother, I'm never marrying again, because they will never _be_ anyone else like her!"

"Ten minutes is hardly a marriage!" Molly suddenly blurted out, scoffing. "And if Harry married you, then he wasn't ordained! That wedding couldn't be real!" Ginny gasped in dramatic horror, clapping her hands over Lily's ears.

Ron's one eye ticked, twitched, as he gaped at his mother in disbelief. "Merlin damn you..." he whispered dangerously. His voice shook. "I would think long and hard about what you just said to me! Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go see my wife." And he stormed out of the house to stunned silence. Molly immediately rounded on her son-in-law.

"You _knew_! You knew _all_ along and you never told us?"

"It was never my place to tell you, Molly," Harry shook his head sadly. "It was the wee hours of the morning... she was dying... Hermione asked me to do it, so they gave their vows. I transfigured some rings out of sand, they kissed and that was that. Hermione died minutes later."

Some of the older grandkids, like Teddy Lupin and Victoire and Dominique, had their mouths dropped open in horrified shock. Uncle Harry rarely, if ever, spoke of his youth, his time as a wizarding solider and hero, tracking down and killing Voldemort. And Uncle Ron had never before mentioned having a wife, or any significant other of any sort.

Ginny's entire face was white. "How could you not tell me...?" She gasped. "So _that's_ what the ring on his ring finger is!"

"Wow, Gin-Gin, good job!" George sneered. "How long did it take you to figure that one out?"

"George, shut up!" Harry snapped. Ginny went for George.

"You knew too?"

"No. But have I always suspected? Yes."

* * *

The dunes behind the darkened windows of his brother's house were windswept as Ron finally emerged on the crest of the hill, a bouquet of roses in his hand. Roses had always been her favorite flower.

None of the family except for Harry knew it, but Ron came here every year on the anniversary of her death. April 15th. The date just so happened to fall on Easter Sunday this year, only exacerbating his shortness at the family dinner table.

Gently, Ron laid the roses besides the headstone. It was white marble, still shining underneath a thin layer of grime; he would have to return with supplies and clean it, he'd done that before. Kneeling, sitting back on his calves, he contemplated the love of his life, freezing silent, remembering.

"Hey, love..." he said quietly, a small smile gracing his lips. "How's your Easter been? Mum went mental cooking tonight... our nieces and nephews are getting so big! Harry's little girl reminds me of you a little bit." He chuckled, shaking his head. "Funny, I know, considering you two don't share any genes. Makes me wonder... what our little girl would have been like." He sighed heavily. "I miss you, Hermione. I'm still keeping my vows to you, and then some. Goodbye, my darling wife. And thank you."

Somewhere in the distance, he heard a POP! Bill, Fleur, Louis and the girls must be getting home. Ron quickly turned on the spot and despite not wanting to see his mother at the moment, Disapparated back to the Burrow.

He returned to find most of the family gone, his parents apparently having retired to bed. Only Harry, Ginny, James, Albus and Lily remained, the middle child asleep in his mother's arms and James barely able to stand up.

"You're coming home with us tonight," Ginny insisted to her brother. "I won't have you in that flat all alone on Easter."

Knowing better than to argue with his sister, Ron nodded. There was a rustling as James finally gave in to sleep, and Harry scooped his first-born into his arms.

The five Potters and Ron emerged through the Floo into their Godric's Hollow home. Harry and Ginny went upstairs to put their sons to bed; Lily was still wide awake, though she was far quieter than normal. Ron guided her into the kitchen, and prepared two cups of tea for them. Uncle and niece regarded each other for a long time across the table, over the rims of their mugs, the awkward silence finally broken when Harry and Ginny came back downstairs. Ginny busied herself at the counter to make a late-night snack. However, she was quickly distracted by Harry spooning her from behind.

"Harry! You tease!" But she accepted her husband's kiss. Ron observed Lily watching her parents closely, almost curiously. He knew Harry and Ginny didn't mean anything bad by indulging in a public display of affection, so he kept quiet. At last, Lily's eyes - an unnerving and inexplicably inherited set of chocolate brown - fixed on the blue orbs of her uncle.

"Uncle Ron?"

"Yes, my dear?" Ron's smile crinkled with age, tiredly. He couldn't help it. Lily was his favorite Potter, even more than her father - had had Ron wrapped around her little finger since the day she was born.

"Why don't you have someone to kiss you the way Mummy kisses Daddy?"

Ron's eyes briefly hovered over his sister and best friend, then away.

"I did, love... once."

"Your wife," Lily probed. It was a statement, not a question. Clearly, she remembered the explosion at dinner. A slight pause, before she continued in a small voice. "Was she my Auntie?"

Ron nodded painfully. "She would have been." He was certain of it.

Lily frowned. "What happened to her?"

 _No, No, No, No, NOOOOOO!... Hold me. One more time... A daughter who died!... LIVE FOR HER! THAT IS WHAT SHE WOULD WANT!... I don't blame the werewolf, Ron!... And anyone who ever cared about her at all wouldn't just sit here, and do nothing!... The love of my life, our best mate, is dead, and it's because of that monster... that monster... that monster..._

Ron shook himself out of the sounds and memories assaulting him. He knew he couldn't tell a six-year-old the whole truth, especially when Lily was now looking at him with growing concern. The kitchen had grown quiet. So, he decided to keep it true, but vague.

"She... she died, honey. A long time ago, before you were born."

Lily considered this for a moment. Then floated: "Well, maybe you could get me another Auntie!"

"Lily!" Harry whispered harshly. But Ron held up a hand to silence him.

"I don't think so, Lily Bear. Sometimes..." he struggled to find the words. "Sometimes... when a Mummy and a Daddy are in love - when they're _really_ in love - and one of them... goes to heaven, it is hard to find another person to love that much. Oh, it happens sometimes... but it's very hard. Your Auntie was my soulmate."

Lily frowned. "What's a soulmate? Did it mean Auntie was very pretty?"

Ron chuckled. "Oh, Lily... she was _beautiful_."

"All right, little lady!" Ginny cut the conversation short as she scooped Lily up. "Time for you to join your brothers and go to sleep."

"Aw, Mum!" But Lily allowed herself to be carried away, leaving Harry and Ron alone.

There was a long silence between the two best friends. At last, Harry spoke.

"I'm sorry about Lily."

"It's OK."

"Um... thank you. For talking to her about it and treating her like an adult. And... and you know something?" Ron finally met Harry's gaze to see that he was peering at him curiously. He looked almost... encouraged. "You didn't break down once. That's the first time I've seen you talk about Hermione in years without crying."

Ron's brow furrowed. "What are you saying, mate?"

Harry shrugged. "That you're healing. Just a little bit. I know... you'll never get over it. Believe me, I won't either. She was like my sister. But... maybe now you can live your life. Move on. And if moving on for you means you don't get married again, you don't get married again. I think it's sweet, that you're still honoring her."

Slowly, Ron smiled. "Yeah..."

* * *

It was beautiful late summer's day, about five months later, as Ron crossed the crest of the familiar dune, this time, with a guest.

"Why are we carrying balloons with parchment on them, Uncle Ron?" Lily asked, holding one balloon and her uncle's hand in her free grasp.

Ron's body bobbed alongside the second balloon he himself carried as he chuckled. "You'll see, Lily Bear."

Uncle and niece halted in front of a headstone of white marble. Dropping Lily's hand, Ron took out his wand, and aimed it at the headstone. With great care, he etched two new words into its face, so that when he was done, the headstone now read:

 _Hermione Jean Granger Weasley_

 _Beloved daughter, friend and wife_

 _September 19th, 1979 - April 15th, 1998_

Lily wiped back tears from her brown eyes. Stepping forward, she pressed a kiss to the headstone. "Sleep well, Auntie. Uncle Ron loves you."

Ron smiled down at her. "You ready?"

Lily grinned. "Yeah."

And together, they released the two balloons into the air.

The first balloon carried a letter for Mr. and Mrs. Granger. For years, Ron had kept tabs from afar on Hermione's parents, and when they had passed away - apparently within weeks of each other - this past July, Ron had sat down and written Hermione's parents a personal letter, telling them all about his love for, and all-too-brief marriage to, their only daughter. He hoped they would get it in the afterlife as the Grangers, and not as Wendell and Monica Wilkins.

The second balloon carried a parchment addressed to Hermione. And this is what Ron had written:

 _My sweet, dearest love,_

 _Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of you. And though the pain of losing you has dulled, the pain will always be there. You, my darling wife, are someone whom I could never forget nor replace. One day soon, Hermione, I will leave this Earth still a widower, faithful in our wedding vows given to you, and only you. Yours is the first face I wish to see and kiss when I reach whatever is after this existence. Eternal life, with you. But I can wait for it. Merlin knows you waited for me, longer than you should have. Patience, my precious. I will see you again._

 _All my love, your husband,_

 _Ron_


End file.
